


As Sweetly as Thou

by harbor_song



Category: Henry IV Part 1 - Shakespeare, Hollow Crown (2012)
Genre: Bars and Pubs, But I carest not, Deception, F/M, Hot Elizabethan Sex, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Shakespeare is probably rolling in his grave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-16
Updated: 2012-10-16
Packaged: 2017-11-16 11:00:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/538726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harbor_song/pseuds/harbor_song
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Lady disguises herself in an attempt to infiltrate Prince Hal's rowdy company at Boar's Head Tavern.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Sweetly as Thou

**Author's Note:**

> written for a friend :)

You walk through the door, greeted by Mistress Quickly who does little more than give you a knowing nod in the direction of an empty table. Discretion is your game and you’ve paid her well for it. You’ve altered your appearance, taking on that of a commoner with a plain bodice dress and your hair unadorned. A noble woman would shine too brightly amongst such foul company, no; you need to blend in for this plan to work. You are here to seduce a Prince after all; you don’t want him, or anyone else, suspicious. To them you must appear akin.

You take your seat at the table, removing your cloak. Francis brings you a cup of wine, and you sip it while bidding your time. Soon his laugh carries over the din and already you feel your core begin to throb in anticipation. The fleeting thought of how that laugh would feel pressed up against your most intimate region causes you to bite the inside of your cheek to keep composure.

His merry party continues their carousing but you can wait no longer, the toilsome wait to come to this moment in your plans has left you anxious and aroused. How many nights have you lain awake, your hands tormenting your sex as you think of him: Hal, the heir apparent? Far too many. You stand, leaving your cloak and cup upon the table and make way through the boisterous congregation.

In an attempt to cross the room and speak with Mistress Quickly, a drunkard jostles you, sending you careening into a nearby table. You fall into the wood, bumping a wine glass and dousing your bodice in watery red.

“Ho there, knave!” A voice speaks loudly. “What beest the meaning of this?” Hands take your arms and help you to. “Beg pardon, gentlewoman.”

“No. The fault ‘twas mine…” You look up and realize Prince Hal is standing before you, his hair wet and plastered to his forehead, his dark tunic soaked and heavy with the scent of wine. He looked breathtaking. “Your Grace.”

He smiles and further helps you to steady. “Prithee, mistress. The fault lies therein with the boisterous knave, not thou.”

His gaze trails down your face, neck and lie rest on your bosom which now gleams with wine. Things are not quite to plan, you did not foresee being doused in wine, but you can still salvage this if the expression of need on Prince Hal’s face is any consolation. Your eyes flick to Mistress Quickly, signally her part in the plot.

“Out with thee!” she exclaims to the congregation of lechers, trulls, peasants, and knaves as she shoos them away while a waving of her short otterish arms. She smiles towards you as she slinks off elsewhere, leaving you and the Prince standing alone in the middle of the tavern.

You look down, realizing you are blushing. “I beg God’s mercy for disrupting your merry evening, Your Grace.”

He takes your chin in his hand and turns your face up to his. “It wouldst appear, gentlewoman, that mine eve is becoming ever merry, if thou beauty speaketh so.” He smiles. “Tell me, fair one, is there any satisfaction I can give thee for recompense of thy most monstrously soiled dress?”

You say nothing. Indeed your darkening eyes reply for you. You stand like a sentinel as Hal dips his head towards your breasts, his lips meeting the soft firm globes as he proceeds to suck the wine from the crevice between them. A gasp escapes your lips and you brace yourself on the table behind you. He looks up, licking his lips and smiles knowingly at you.

“Thy beest no wench, gentlewoman” he states, the tips of his fingers trailing lightly across your now heaving bosom, and you yearn for his teeth to nibble at them. “A trull smells not as sweetly as thou.”

“I knowst not what thou speaks, Your Grace,” you reply. “I am what thou seest before thee. No designs of deceivement dost I conceal.” You give a nervous laugh.

“O! But hark, I smell and taste hierarchy on thee, fair one.” He leans in again, this time trailing his warm tongue up from your cleavage to just under your jaw. “The savor of lavender and rose beest mingled betwixt the wine.” Closely, he leans in to your ear, whispering, his breath warm on your skin and yet it causes you to shiver as if some chill had overcome you. “I knowst thou secret, mistress.” His hand gathers your skirt, pulling it up over your knees as he eases you back down on the table. “Through your veil I see, and now I harbor ponderings on whether thy nothing samples as heady as thou bosom.”

You lie there, unable to speak at the sheer audacity of his words. This charming and noble Prince indeed has the mouth of a rogue—and it serves only to make you wetter. Both his hands gather your skirt, which now lies on the topmost of your thighs, and pushes it up to your navel. As his hands slide down over your hips, his lips part from the indecorous sight of you; your soft, creamy flesh and short downy curls glistening in the candlelight. His cock stirs from within the codpiece.

He parts your legs to accommodate his body before trailing a long, lithe finger up your slit, coating it in your arousal and bringing it to his lips. A grin tugs at his mouth, “O! This is a noble nothing indeed, mistress: sweet and savory. Wouldst thou wish me to feast upon it?”

You struggle to speak; his slender form before you, tasting you from his finger is nearly more than you can abide. But your throat obliges and words form. “Yea, Your Grace.”

Hal smiles and kneels on the floor, his face level to your most intimate of areas. His fingers open your folds and you gasp loudly when his tongue flattens and licks upwards, stopping to flick your nub. Your hips circle and cant towards his face, but he merely laughs. Oh that glorious laughter reverberating through your core is almost enough to make you come undone right then and there, but you don’t. Instead you focus on his fingers gliding inside your heat. He pumps them in and out, curling them in just the right manner to send the most delightful sensations to your taut nipples as he continues tasting you.

When he pulls his fingers out, you whimper but oblige him when he brings them to your mouth and parts your rosy lips. You clean them, your taste mixed with the wine that covered him. You sit up. Your hands busy themselves with his flap and you both moan when his hardened cock is freed.

Your fingers wrap around it, your thumb spreading around the pearl of arousal beaded at the top as he pulls his fingers from your mouth. You fist his shirt and pull him closer to you, your lips hungry for the wine still glistening on his collarbone and neck. You clean it from him, sucking on his Adam’s apple as he licks his palm and brings it to join yours on his cock.

His mouth finds yours and the embrace becomes hungry, teeth clashing and tongues touching. He pushes you back on the table, admiring your flushed skin and he continues stroking his cock.

“Art thou ready, mistress?” 

He smiles but barely gives you time to reply before thrusting himself into you: hard and deep. His girth causes some pain at first, but soon it is overridden by pleasure. Your hand moves to your nub, circling it as he watches and feels how your muscles clasp around him. You both continue this dance of thrust and cant until you are certain the only outcome would be death. Your torturous workings soon unfurl the warm spiral at the base of your spine and send it spreading southward where it breaks upon his cock in waves. You cry out his name.

His form tightens up and you know he’s close. He thrusts a few more times and comes inside you; some of his seed dripping from you. Your mouths part and both of you are left panting. He smiles as he slips himself from you, and closes up his flap once more. His fingers trail along your thighs as he pulls your skirt back down over your knees, his eyes searching yours.

“Pray, thou name, milady?”

Mistress Quickly appears, agitated and worried. “Milady. Your Grace. Come forth some men to fetch the Prince!”

Hal nods at Mistress Quickly and watches as you wrestle with your decision to reply, your lips parting in silent words as the sound of horses comes closer. Your eyes find his and you know you can no longer hide who you are. Parents be damned, you want him, you need him. Perhaps this is a good thing, if he knows who you are mayhaps he’ll forth for you next time. You sigh, straightening your shoulders to regain decorum. “Lady Sabine, Your Grace.” 

“I will come for thee.” He takes your hand, bowing slightly and placing a chaste kiss atop it. “Lady Sabine, until we meet again.” You watch as he exits the tavern before the men have a chance to enter, turning to smile at you once more and then disappearing into the dark night. You walk home alone anon, reveling in the night’s events and how his seed mixed with your arousal is still dripping down your thighs.


End file.
